


The Time Given to You

by HallsofStone2941



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Cultural Differences, M/M, additional happy ending, mild depictions of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-07
Updated: 2014-05-07
Packaged: 2018-01-23 22:44:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1582115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HallsofStone2941/pseuds/HallsofStone2941
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dwarves and Hobbits have clocks on their wrists, counting down to a specific date and time. What they count down to, though, differs.</p><p>Slightly inspired by the movie "In Time" starring Justin Timberlake</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Time Enough for What I Want to Say

When Bilbo was born, the time on his wrist read 51 years, one month, three weeks, and thirteen hours, exactly. “Fifty-one years,” Belladonna would whisper painfully to her husband, “so short.”

It was the reason that Belladonna Baggins nee Took encouraged his adventuring when he was young, when she knew he was safe; as he got older, she kept him out of danger. It was impossible, she knew, to avoid one’s fate, but she would be damned if she wouldn’t do everything in her power to keep her only child alive.

Neither Bungo nor his wife lived long enough to watch their son pass, as it should be. More than their warnings of safety and the dangers of the outside world, their deaths turned young Bilbo Baggins against all adventuring. And so he planned to spend the rest of his life, half of what Hobbits usually had, in quiet solitude, never getting close to anyone, for he did not desire to make them suffer with his premature death.

* * * * *

Thorin was born with 195 years, one month, seventeen days, and twenty hours counting down on his wrist. In his youth, he would glance at his clock when he was alone, hopeful of meeting his One, and impatient, unwilling to wait so long. After the fall of Erebor, he looked less often, and with more fear. Much time would pass before he was destined to meet his One – what if he died? What if his One died? The time on his wrist was no guarantee.

After the Battle of Azanulbizar, he covered his wrist at all times, and never looked at it again.

As he wandered through the Shire, decades later, he could not help but feel the clock in his pulse. He knew, even though he refused to look, that he had less than two hours. It was as if his mind had kept a subconscious countdown throughout the years – each second passed by with a beat of his heart.

It was for this reason he wandered so much. He’d found the Halfling’s house long before (and what Gandalf was thinking, hiring a _Hobbit_ as a burglar, he didn’t know), but kept moving. Surely, he was not meant for one of these Shirefolk? Shouldn’t he be preparing for a meeting with a dwarf of significant importance? Yet he’d left the meeting with his kinsmen early, eager to get to the Shire, and now that he was there, he didn’t know what moved him.

Finally, however, he could not delay any more. Moving up to the door, feeling the beat under his skin – _seconds…seconds…seconds_ – understanding, as he knocked, that it was likely his host that his timer counted to – it should irk him, but instead he is anxious and excited. He does not look at the Hobbit, attention latching onto Gandalf, hoping that maybe, if he holds it off, it won’t happen. But as Gandalf introduces the Hobbit, Thorin can feel the final tick of his clock as his eyes meet hazel ones.

Beautiful. But he cannot say that.

“So. This is the Hobbit.”

* * * * *

Gandalf, apparently, knows about Bilbo’s clock (less that seven months, the Hobbit thinks) – Belladonna had asked the wizard if there was anything, anything at all that could be done.

“Whether you like it or not, Bilbo Baggins, your time is short. You _will_ die; are you going to do so amongst your books and dishes and doilies, or are you going to do it because of something worthwhile? You might as well make it memorable.” Truth be told, Gandalf was saddened by Bilbo’s fate, but not even wizards could change this destiny.

Bilbo decides to go with the Dwarves. He has no doubt, now, that he will die on this quest, but he will do so knowing he helped a wandering people gain their home – and that is enough for him.

* * * * *

When the Hobbit falls over the cliff side, Thorin does not hesitate to save him. It hurts, more than he expected, to touch his One. Thorin had kept his distance – he had a quest to lead, he had nothing to offer Bilbo, but most painfully, it was obvious Bilbo did not reciprocate his feelings. He knew, from glimpses in the Shire, that Hobbits had clocks. But there have been stories where the bond is one-sided, and it seems as if that is his fate. In his emotional pain he lashes out at Bilbo, and silently prays, when the Hobbit explains his decision to return to Rivendell, that he will be safe. He should have never left his comfortable Hobbit hole, and Thorin would do anything in the world to know he was safe and sound, at home.

When the Hobbit appears, and saves Thorin’s life, the Dwarf King thinks he may crumple into himself from the pain of his distance. In that instant, he decides to reach out to Bilbo. He embraces the Hobbit, allowing himself to think, for a second, that Bilbo is truly _his_ , and when Bilbo looks at him without fear, when he _smiles_ at him, Thorin feels something ease in his chest.

* * * * *

They are bathing in a shallow part of the river when Bilbo sees Balin’s blank wrist. He blinks in confusion – Bofur has a clock, as do Fili and Kili, so he knows Dwarves do, but Balin can’t be clocked out because that would mean—

The white-haired Dwarf chuckles, and Bilbo looks away, embarrassed at being caught. “The time, Master Baggins,” Balin says, “indicates when we meet our One. I have already met mine,” here he gestures to his own wrist, and Fili, Kili, and Bofur come closer to listen, “these three haven’t.”

“Can’t wait, though,” Bofur says, pointing to his wrist, which shows a year and a half left.

“I am glad, Master Bofur, that the meaning of your clock is different,” Bilbo said. When given confused looks, he elaborates. “Hobbit clocks – yes, we have them – indicated the date and time of our death,”

“That’s horrible,” Bofur says, while both Fili and Kili demand to see Bilbo’s.

“I think not!” The Hobbit tells the brothers. “Suffice to say it is a respectable age for a Hobbit, and that you needn’t worry about me dropping dead any time soon.” It was a lie, but Bilbo would not burden them with such a weighty truth. He had come to care for this ragtag company, and it would hurt to say goodbye, but he hoped against hope that he would do just that – finish his job, and leave before they would know what happened to him.

That night, when Bilbo lay down to sleep, he allowed a few tears to escape. Never before had he hated his fate, always accepting it and knowing not everyone had luck on their side, but now he mourned for the Dwarves he had just begun to call his family.

* * * * *

Men and Elves stood on his doorstep, and the only person that would be able to get Thorin out of his mood was his One – and as if he had been summoned, Bilbo appeared in the doorway, walking toward where Thorin had secluded himself in a corner of the treasure room. He sat next to Thorin, not speaking for a while, before saying:

“Balin told me – about your clock. Well, he hinted at it, I suppose. I have hidden my feelings from you, Thorin, because I did not know if they would be accepted.” Thorin turns to look at Bilbo, just as Bilbo does the same. The Dwarf swallows a few times.

“I do not know what the dawn will bring, Master Burglar. Likely as not, war looms on the horizon,” his voice drops to a whisper, “would you be willing to share this night with me?”

“Please,” Bilbo responds.

* * * * *

They are laying together, Thorin’s front to Bilbo’s back, and Thorin is staring at the wall of the room they had found for themselves. Bilbo is barely awake, and Thorin takes the opportunity to run his finger underneath the wrist garment that Bilbo always keeps on his left hand – right where his clock would be. Curious – the skin is so much paler than anything else, and what would Bilbo hide? – Thorin pushes it back a couple inches.

The clock is not zeroed – in fact, it has two days on it.

Thorin now registers the tenseness in Bilbo’s shoulders, the way he’d been trying to edge away from Thorin’s prying fingers. The Dwarf can only stare at the countdown, and anger beyond anything he has ever felt clouds out any semblance of reason. He is up in an instant, and Bilbo is in front of him, pleading, begging Thorin to let him explain. Thorin barely registers that he yells at the Hobbit, telling him to leave, calling him a traitor, until the other man has scurried out of the room, taking all belongings with him. Then he slumps against the wall, feeling used and abused, and wondering how could he have been _so stupid_.

The next day, Gandalf appears and reveals the Arkenstone, and Bilbo as the thief (though the Hobbit is nowhere to be seen), and Thorin feels the betrayal even deeper. He agrees to the terms, because now nothing matters but the treasure in his mountain, and goes to his piles of gold with emptiness making his heart ache.

Balin finds him there the next morning.

“Go away,”

“Thorin, why did you make Bilbo leave?”

“I do not wish to—”

“I know what you did. I know what he was to you, and I know he went to you. Why would you turn him away?”

Thorin stares at his advisor. “Turn him away?” He whispers disbelievingly. “ _Turn him away_? Balin, do you know what he did to me?” When his oldest friend doesn’t answer, Thorin rises to shout in his face. “His clock hadn’t run out! He used me! Used my affections! Was probably prepping for an actual meeting, given how little time he had left!”

Balin pales. “Thorin,” he says shakily, “how much time did he have?” Thorin pauses to remember.

“He meets his One today,” he answers bitterly. Balin sways, then sinks to his knees and falls to the floor.

“He lied – told us he had more time,” the older Dwarf muttered, horrified. Thorin frowns. “What?” he barks out sharply. “Balin, what did he tell you?”

When Balin looks at him, there are tears in his eyes. “Thorin, the clock on a Hobbit’s wrist – it doesn’t refer to their One.” He takes a deep breath, sorrow stooping his shoulders and swimming in his eyes. “It signifies their death.”

* * * * *

Thorin slices through Orc after Orc, desperate to find Bilbo. _I have to find him, I have to tell him, I have to—_ Thorin can barely breathe for the panic gripping his body; he moves on instinct, seeking out his One, _please, before it’s too late_.

There! There he is, and Thorin is so glad he can do nothing more as he sees the curly-haired Hobbit fighting his way through the Orcs. _Must get him to safety_ , Thorin thinks, and shouts Bilbo’s name. The other looks up after removing his sword from a warg’s skull, and his eyes meet Thorin’s. For a second they stand there, Bilbo watches, Thorin wonders – why is he _here_ , this is no place for him – then the Hobbit’s eyes widen. Drawing his arm back, Bilbo hurls Sting through the air with a precision only the best of Hobbits possess. Thorin spins to see the glowing Elvish dagger buried in the chest of none other than Azog himself, mere feet from where Thorin stood, unsuspecting.

Thorin feels a beat in his pulse as he turns back. Time slows, in his mind’s eye, he sees a clock, too few seconds left moving down. His eyes lock for the briefest second with Bilbo’s – in them, he can see love, regret, and sorrow – before an Orcish sword appears through the Hobbit’s chest. It is removed just as quickly, and Thorin swears he can hear the heavy thump as Bilbo’s knees kit the ground.

_NO!_

He is stumbling, crawling through the battlefield, desperate to reach his Hobbit before – but it is already too late. Bilbo’s eyes are already shut, his mouth slack. Golden curls are ruffled slightly by the breeze, and if it weren’t for the blood and dirt covering his front, the paleness of his skin, Bilbo might have been sleeping – but there was no breath in his lungs, and the acute stabbing sensation Thorin felt in his own chest, so much worse than any weapon, anything he’d ever felt before, tells Thorin that Bilbo is gone.

The pain threatens to consume him. He had heard tales, horror stories, of Dwarves losing their Ones – nothing could have ever prepared him for the crippling ache where his heart is. He casts wildly about, grabs the ‘letter-opener’ Bilbo used and turns the point on himself, desperate to end this hurt. The screams of friend, foe, and kin alike fall mutely on his ears as he looks at his Hobbit. He has only one thought before he drives the blade home:

_I’m so sorry, Bilbo._


	2. Time Enough to Share All Our Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An alternative, happier ending (begins after Bilbo kills Azog)

Thorin sees Azog stumble back, staring at the blade buried in his chest. He whips his head back to stare at his _wonderful, glorious, surprising_ Halfling – just in time to see the Orc behind him. In a move similar to the one he used to save the elf-prince during his trip down the river in barrels, Thorin throws his axe with both hands. Bilbo’s eyes widen; he ducks, and the creature that nearly killed his One falls, blade inches from where the Hobbit’s back had been. Thorin forces his way through friend and foe alike, stopping when he reaches the Hobbit’s side. He picks up Orcrist, killing any enemy that dares come close, though his attention is on Bilbo. The Hobbit is kneeling, and has torn the knit garment off his wrist. He stares at his bare arm with wide eyes, before turning to look at Thorin.

“Thorin,” he chokes, “Thorin, this isn’t _possible_. Even Gandalf said—” His eyes revert back to his wrist. Thorin peers over his shoulder and watches with relief as the numbers rise until they stop a month short of eighty years. _Eighty years,_ he thinks, beyond happy. _Eighty wonderful, long years_. Ignoring the battle around them, and past aggressions (all on Thorin, of course, Bilbo _never_ did anything wrong), Thorin wraps his arms around his Hobbit, his One, and kisses him thoroughly.

The battle is won, and Thorin is crowned King, with his Consort by his side. True to his wrist, Bilbo lives to a hundred and thirty-one years old, older than any Hobbit in history, before or since. Many things happened during that time: the restoration of Erebor, the War of the Ring, and, of course, the day on which a wizened King and his beloved Hobbit are found, curled up together peacefully in their bed. But any Dwarf could tell you: the thing that mattered most to the King Under the Mountain was the Hobbit always at his side.

*****

**Epilogue: Many Years Later**

“Welcome home, Olorín,” the soft voice floats from a side passage in the great halls of Manwë, and Olorín, better known to Men as Gandalf, turns to face the speaker. Yavanna, clad in soft robes of green and gold-streaked brown, smiles at him. Her husband, Aulë, inclines his head toward the Maia.

“It is good to be home, My Lady,” Olorín replies, a gentle smile gracing his features. “My time spent on Arda has taught me to appreciate peace when it is given to me.”

“And I imagine many on Arda will appreciate your inability to meddle anymore,” Aulë rumbles, eyes twinkling. Yavanna laughter rings like bells through the hall, and Olorín allows the slight to pass. He tilts his head to the Valar before turning to leave. A thought, however, has him turning back.

“Speaking of meddling,” he says knowingly, eying the mischievous couple, “it is curious, do you not think, that a Hobbit should defy his fate?”

Yavanna, looking entirely too innocent to _be_ innocent, raises one eyebrow. “Actually, Olorín, I do not find it to be curious in the slightest. Only, shall we say, convenient.” Olorín raises his eyebrow but says nothing as he walks away. Once he is out of earshot, Aulë releases the pent-up snort.

“Convenient, indeed. It is frightening, my dear, how often you get your way. You could rule the worlds if you only thought to ask.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By popular request, I added a bit to the end: a little more explanation for people who disliked the lack of logic. I'm happier with this - hope you all will be too!


End file.
